


Fissure

by ObscureFrost



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Allies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Graphic Description, Multi, Slow Burn, competent survivors, ruthless killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureFrost/pseuds/ObscureFrost
Summary: Meg has gotten a handle on the whole 'surviving' thing. More or less. Usually less. She's had good reason to assume that the beasts that hunt her are just puppets made from nightmares. Tools of the Entity, made to strike her down as brutally and efficiently as possible. That theory has shown it's cracks.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Meg Thomas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	1. Crag

**Author's Note:**

> Yes okay, this isn't part of 'Beautiful Trappings' but this has been in my WIP folder for over a year and it's time to get it into the world. As such some of the lore I use is outdated, and I use old headcanons in it's place. I will also be ignoring some...'canon', since BHVR can't be bothered to keep any of their facts straight. I hope you enjoy!

## Chapter 1: Crag

There was no way to tell time in the fog. No way to know how long the darkness had been curling at her feet. Meg was counting though, the seventeen thundering footsteps the Trapper had taken as he searched the house for her. Her breath came from the bottom of her lungs, trying with desperate force to stay quiet. He was checking lockers. He hadn’t seen her, crouched by the doorway, on his way in. He had walked right past her, close enough she had seen the wear on his boot laces. She knew she needed a way out, but he had trapped the doorway before he came in, and the only other exit was a window across the hall. She could make it, if she was quiet, if she was fast, if he couldn’t follow her tracks. More steps and the sound of a locker opening. She took that as her chance, and threw her body forward, four long strides to get to the window, she leaped without putting so much as a hair of weight on the old creaking wood, and she was out. Elation flooded her veins as she fell through, but she didn’t hit the ground. She was falling, and she would never land, and suddenly she knew she would die when she landed, and her heart leapt into her throat and she screamed.

Meg woke with her heart pounding, her lungs burning, and a scream lodged into her throat, unvoiced. She was at the fire. Jake was next to her, working on something with his pliers. Claudette and Dwight were in their usual spots too, still sleeping. Hopefully, Meg thought, they were having better dreams than her. She pulled herself upright, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. 

“Bad dreams?” Jake asked. He wasn’t looking at her, attention still on the lump of twisted metal in his hands. Dreams here could be almost prophetic, if you were paying attention. Insight, almost, in how to survive the trials ahead. The entity could pound sand with it’s bullshit, in her opinion. 

“The next trial area is going to be a bottomless pit where you just fall, Alice in Wonderland style, and eat crumpets on the way down.”

“Boring,” he replied nonplussed, “No spikes or anything? Entity isn’t even trying.”

“I know right?” Meg laughed, and pulled herself up, “Maybe the crumpets are poison. Or maybe one of the killers is falling in after you, and they have to catch you just by like, being aerodynamic and catching up.”

Jake snorted, and let the subject drop. He was awake, but not awake enough to deal with her nonsense apparently. Meg started stretching, waiting for the others to wake up. She probably didn’t really need to. She had never pulled a muscle here (how awful would that be, to be booking it from a psycho only to get a cramp?) but it was a routine at this point that she was loath to break. It was a way to maintain her own semblance of structure. The endless darkness and fog were maddening, and routine was a necessary salve to ward off the feelings of emptiness that crept in when you weren’t careful. So she stretched when she woke up. Jake tinkered with useless bits of metal, Claudette journaled, and Dwight made things. Consistency really was key. 

As Meg was reaching for her toes, Claudette yawned, blinking slowly, her hand emerging out from her blankets to pat around for her glasses. Meg sent her a little wave that she returned slowly. Meg had moved onto stretching her back by the time Dwight sat up. Somehow, he always managed to wake up all at once, not even looking faintly groggy as he pulled himself up and started to roll up his bedding.

“So,” Dwight started the conversation, as he usually did, “we have a plan for today, right? Autohaven?”

“Right,” Jake nodded, not taking his eyes off his project as if it would vanish if he did, “For cutting wire and solder.”

“Alright. Claudette needed some plants. Meg, any preference on digging through dirty old cars or through plain old dirt?” Meg shook her head. “I’ll go with Jake then, and you help Claudette. The signal if Wraith is out and aggressive is the usual; bang on car hoods when you book it for the fire.” 

“Yes Dad.” Meg had meant that to sound more childish than it did, but the effect was ruined from the muffle of her cheek being pressed against her knees. Dwight just sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. They continued with their own tasks after that, until Jake set aside his pliers and started rolling his pile of cloth and clothing into a compact mound. Jake waited, patiently enough for him, until Meg straightened, and Claudette finished her page, then started rummaging in his things for the car key they would need to burn to get to the wrecking yard. 

“Almost done here.” Dwight tied a few knots is the end of what was now a somewhat thick cord of grass braid, and gestured at Jake, “There, come on Jake, this one’s for you.” Jake stuck his wrist out for the band, and Dwight secured it with a few more loops and knots. “Everyone good to go?” 

Meg and Claudette nodded, and Jake tossed a bent car key into the flames of the campfire. He waited for the key to blacken, then dissipate into a small cloud of smoke, before turning and heading into the woods. The rest followed suit, making sure not to fall too far behind. Usually if they burned an offering together, they would end up in the same place even if they didn’t leave together, but it wasn’t a hard and fast rule. Claudette had once managed to get separated after stopping to pick some herbs and ended up back up at the fire instead of going anywhere at all, so they liked to travel within eyesight at least. They ended up walking in pairs, Jake and Dwight heatedly discussing sabotage as a valid survival strategy, Meg and Claudette behind them.

“Hey Claudette?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you uh, been in a trial against Trapper at all recently?” 

“Oh uhm,” Claudette’s brows furrowed, “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“I just...haven’t gone up against it in a while.” Meg crossed her fingers where Claudette couldn’t see. She hadn’t been lying really, but saying she had seen him in a dream was awkward as fuck.

“Huh. That’s actually interesting.” 

“What? It is?” 

“Yeah,” Claudette looked a bit conspiratorial as she said that, leaning in and lowering her voice, “Kate told me a while ago that she and some of the others had been getting back-to-back trials with Trapper lately. She was complaining because they all kept dying. But have you heard Jake or Dwight complain about a Trapper trial at all recently?”

“That’s….You’re right that’s really weird.” She trailed off, thinking. “Any theories?”

Claudette shrugged exaggeratedly. “Not really, I mean, there’s a million reasons that could happen right? There’s enough of us now that maybe it’s luck. Maybe the Entity has seen us duke it out so often now that it thinks we’re a boring match up. Heck, maybe it got so sick of us breaking its shit it requested a vacation.” 

Meg laughed at that. It was true, the four of them had been going against the Trapper for a long time now, and it was a lot less likely any of the four of them would get caught up in traps the same way someone newer like Jane or Kate might. “Interesting though, isn’t it?” Claudette lost her quieter tone as her excitement grew, “I wonder if it’s something we did. I was reading through my journal after talking to Kate, and the last trial I had with him, I just wrote ‘traps suck, frowny face’ and it was forever ago. Seriously, at least fifteen trials without seeing any. Maybe Jake broke so many traps the Entity called a strike.”

“There’s like, a 50-50 chance it was that. Though…” Meg was shuffling through her mental catalogue of trials. “Actually, the last one I had with it might have been interesting.” Before she could continue, Jake and Dwight stopped ahead of them. They had reached the edge of the wrecker yard. The four of them fell into a crouch, scanning for movement. They were in a bad position from here, they were behind the gas station and couldn’t easily see into the rest of the area. Dwight started giving orders and Meg watched carefully. He gestured at Jake, then the hill. Himself, then the other side of the gas station. He pointed at Claudette, his eyes, then Jake. Then Meg, his eyes, and himself. Then he flashed questioning thumbs up. The three of them nodded, and Jake and Dwight crept out of the boundary of the woods, scouting the area. 

Meg watched Dwight’s path carefully, following as best she could in the treeline. Her job was to be an alarm bell. If she saw anything, she would either yell for Dwight to come back or signal him quietly if she could. Dwight would look over his shoulder at her occasionally, just to make sure she wasn’t waving frantically for him to come back. 

Dwight’s path took him down a line of cars, past the shack, and up the other. Meg couldn’t see him on his return path, but she kept a careful eye out for him regardless as she moved back to their starting point. Dwight met her there with a thumbs up, and they waited for Claudette and Jake to return. And return they did, at a jog, Claudette smiling and Jake with good news. 

“We just saw Wraith leave, out by where the exit gate usually is, uncloaked and went into the woods. We’re clear for a little while.” 

Dwight beamed, “Lucky! Let’s get started.” Meg couldn’t help but feel invigorated as they moved into the arena to make a mess of the place. It wasn’t often they got to look around willy-nilly, and this was a good place to find loot, if it was to be found. They stayed within earshot of each other as they searched for their goods. Sweet William flowers were bright pink, and hard to miss on their long stalks, and Meg had a pocket full before Claudette slipped up to her with a proffered satchel for her bounty. 

“What were you saying earlier about your trial with Trapper?”

Meg carefully wedged her flowers into a front pocket, trying to avoid squishing them too much. She shifted a little nervously. “It’s stupid. It let me go is all.”

Claudette’s face fell visibly, as did her shoulders, clearly invested in a good story. “What really? That’s it? Why build it up like that?” 

“I didn’t build it up! I said it might be interesting. Besides I haven’t told you the whole thing yet.” She perked up again as Meg continued, “So it was pretty normal in the beginning right? Feng and I are pounding out the gens, someone-, I can’t remember who, David maybe? Not important- someone gets caught in a trap and goes into the basement. First hook in the trial and it’s in the fucking basement. Anyway, I see Ace pop over to handle it so I get a gen done, and Feng gets another one done.”

Meg’s in full story mode at this point, her hands swinging through the air for emphasis. “Great, except fucking Ace gets stuck in the trap that Trapper always puts on the stairs by the basement,” Claudette nodded sagely, well-versed in basement traps, “and we get them out, by the skin of our teeth, and it takes about a minute for David to get found again. Poor guy just isn’t quiet sometimes. So he’s dead, and then Chuckles comes in for a quick round of hack and slash with me, except that we’re by the storehouse with that exceptionally fine window on the bottom floor. I’m running around so long that the others get two more generators done, and I’m like, fucking dandy, this is a win.” 

She sighed dramatically, putting her hand on her cheek, “Then Feng and Ace step on traps almost simultaneously. I get stunned by a rare moment of shock and get hit, then Trapper goes off to do hook things. So Ace dies on impact, and I think Feng knew it was over at that point and she committed suicide so I could get the hatch.” Claudette raised an eyebrow, which Meg ignores, “Except my hopes aren’t exactly high ya know? Chuckles finds me fast. It couldn’t have been hard, I was bleeding everywhere and moving slow. Then I don’t get hit. Like, I know the drill. You get found, you get knocked down so hard a merry-go-round wishes it could spin like your head is, and if you don’t struggle too much maybe you get dropped on the hatch. But that doesn’t happen. It just kinda stares at me. I’m sitting there, holding my guts in with my t-shirt, not even running really cause I’m like,” Meg shook her head, trying to articulate, “just so scared. I can’t just get used to getting hunted for sport I guess. Anyway, I’m scared, don’t really have anywhere to run cause it’s between me and the window, so I just hunker down and wait for the inevitable, and it doesn’t fucking come. Chuckles is just standing there, not even holding up the fucking cleaver or anything. So in my head I’m thinking this is like, you know an Entity power play thing, like,”

She put on a mocking baritone voice, ‘Aha look at how much nothing you can do, foolish Meg,’ So I smile hoping he gets the ‘yup you beat me big guy, can I go now?’ vibe. And that gets it moving. Grabs my arm, and just starts pulling me towards the log pile. We get there, and bam, there’s the hatch. There’s at least three traps set up by it already so it wasn’t planning on letting me go I think. I freeze up a little at this point actually, because of the arm thing. So it kinda like, huffs at me? Then just shoves me in the hatch. That’s it really. It was mostly,” She made a face, “the way it let me out? Like it was trying to be gentle, that stuck with me.”

Claudette’s ire from before had gone, replaced by what seemed like satisfaction. “I think,” she said, “That is odd, but not nearly odd enough for the preface you gave it. I thought it had swept down and kissed you before you left or something.” 

That startles Meg completely, and she can’t help but laugh, “Absolutely not! I’d have told you the second _that_ happened! Nah. It’s just the grabbing thing. I’m probably overthinking it aren’t I?”

Claudette shrugged, “It’s not surprising if you are. Anything and everything can mean death here. Maybe it’s important. Maybe not. It’s information though, and we can never have enough of that.” 

Cheerful laughter from the other side of the hill interrupted Meg’s chance to reply, so they quickly packed up the rest of their flowers to check out the commotion.

Turns out they hadn’t been the only ones in need of supplies. Nea, Feng, and David had joined the foray, the laughter coming from mostly David, who was shaking a blushing Dwight, talking loudly about him ‘having a good fucking go at it’. Nea waved them over from her loose limbed perch inside a truck bed, where Feng seemed to be fighting a lockbox. 

“What’s up losers?” Nea greeted them cheerfully as they settled into the truck with her.

“Oh the usual. What’s in the bag?” Meg gestured at the pack at their feet. Nea’s smile turned cat-like and she leaned forward as she explained.

“I’m so glad you asked. Feng and I have been working on an experiment.” 

“I was working on an experiment, and you butted in,” Feng corrected, “Somehow you’ve managed to be more helpful than not so we’re implementing some of your less terrible ideas into my working plan.” Nea rolled her eyes as Feng barrelled on, “We know that the different arenas change a lot right? But not really what’s in them. And our stuff at the fires never moves, so what if the map set pieces only move around, but don't fundamentally change? If I can figure out which tiles don’t reset, if any, maybe I can alter them to leave advantages later, like hidden medkits and things like that.” 

“Tiles?” Claudette asked.

“An area with or without objects inside that doesn’t change, but can be moved around within a larger area,” Nea sounded a lot like she was quoting an explanation given to her, and she sent a smug smile to Feng, who ignored her, and continued.

“That’s the bare bones idea, yes. So we need to start figuring out what’s permanent. This is where Nea actually had a decent idea. We’re going to start tagging stuff inside trials, and see what sticks.” 

Nea nudged the bag with her foot, and it gave a metallic rattle. “We’re gonna start spray painting the Entity's shit, basically.” Nea said, “Low and out of the way just in case. Tricky part is that it’s loud as balls, so whoever has the paint needs to either know what they’re doing, or work while someone is distracting the freakshow of the day.” 

“Can you bring spray paint into trials?” Meg asked.

“You can bring whatever the hell you want in my experience. I’ve just never had any reason to. Why bring paint if you can bring a tool box you know?” 

Claudette seemed satisfied by that, nodding thoughtfully. “So how can we help?” 

“Cans of paint. They’re rare, but I’ve found them here and there. If you see me in a trial and I’m not helping much, just know I’m not like being lazy.” 

Feng interjected, “Lazier than usual, you mean.”

“I resent that, and fuck you, jävla skithuvud.” 

“I have no idea what you said, and therefore, do not care.” Feng smirked, pleased Nea had taken the bait. Nea glared, not truly angry.

“Kyss mig i röven.”

Feng stuck her tongue out, “丑八怪.” 

Meg glanced at Claudette, tilting her head in a silent ‘maybe we should go’ gesture, so they both clambered out of the truck as the two started insulting each other in earnest in their native languages. Really, Meg mused as she held out a hand to help Claudette down, they both must enjoy the chance to talk in something other than English. It was probably lonely, not having anyone around who could truly understand you. At this point, Nea and Feng were probably learning new languages faster than anyone else. Dwight had made a point to try to learn as much Swedish from Nea as he could, but it was a slow effort, especially since the lessons were so far and few between.

“Let’s uh,” Claudette said quietly to Meg, “Leave them to it. See if Jake needs help.” 

Jake did need help, as it turned out. David had shown up right after they split up and stolen Dwight away to pick his brain. Jake had found solder, two large spools that would last him several trials if he was lucky, but hadn’t found the sharp, thick wire he needed to cut apart the hooks at their base. 

They took a good amount of time doing that, working in a haphazard line through the cars. Nea and Feng joined them eventually, in high spirits from their fight. It made Meg feel good, digging through the wreckage with her friends, gossiping good-naturedly about other survivors, bitching about the Killers, occasionally coming up triumphantly with useful finds here and there.

They were almost to the end of their line of cars when several resounding bangs erupted from where David and Dwight had been. Without hesitation, they bolted. Meg had the presence of mind to snatch up her small pile of parts as she did, but didn’t bother even looking behind her as she booked it for the treeline. She beat the others, turning swiftly as soon as she could to try to get eyes on the Wraith. She didn’t see anything at first, but as Nea and Jake slid up next to her she caught the shimmer of movement from where they had been working. It was inspecting their piles of debris, parts and pieces that had been judged for their usefulness and discarded, or left behind in the rush. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran up her spine when it turned, and she could tell it was looking straight at them. 

“C’mon,” she urged, “time to go.” 

It was just the three of them, but there wasn’t any point waiting to see if anyone else would show up. The fog was tricky that way, as soon as you hit the trees it was a crap shoot. Claudette could have been right on Meg’s heels and landed in a completely different part of the forest. 

Meg did, in fact, end up seperated from the others as the fog cleared enough she could see again. Trees and trees and, hey look, more trees. She couldn’t see any specific landmarks, but that was probably for the best. Landmarks meant arenas, and right now she’d rather just get to a campfire. Wandering around lost was fine if you didn’t have anything to lose, but right now her hands and pockets were both full of treasures. She gathered her mettle and started walking. 

The coal tower, of all places, had not been where she wanted to end up. Meg sent a silent curse up towards the Entity as she tried crossing out into the trees again, only to get turned around and get put back where she started. It could be worse. The tower was easy enough to hide in. There were plenty of obstacles to hide in and behind, especially since The Trapper (probably) wouldn’t be looking for anyone. It could be better though. The Trapper treated placing traps like a day job, and they were fucking everywhere. 

It would kill her, if it found her. It had happened before, to Jake, a long, long time ago. It had been nice to know they could come back outside of trials but Jake’s nightmares afterwards had gotten worse. A lot worse. Meg would rather avoid that, honestly. But it was better than getting caught by the Clown for sure. Death was a much better alternative than what _that thing_ had in mind for errant survivors. 

Meg crept her way into a small semi-circle of crates. She’d have to just wait out the Fog for a while. She’d get out eventually, either by luck or by the trials starting up again. She was just getting comfortable when the hairs stood up on the back of her neck and she curled down into a smaller ball. There was a shimmer coming out of the woods, and her heart sank and started racing at the same time. Had the Wraith _followed_ her? She was _so fucked_. 

It passed right by her hiding spot though, eerie footfalls headed towards the main building. She almost jumped out of her skin when the bell sounded, ten feet behind her, and she broke into a cold sweat. What was it doing?

“Evan?”

The voice had come from where the bell had sounded. A voice? Evan? Meg couldn’t help herself. Thighs straining, she slowly pushed herself up, careful not to put any weight on the wood next to her, in case it creaked. The Wraith was facing the building, a hand cupped around his lack of mouth. 

“Evan? Are you here?”

The voice was definitely coming from the Wraith. Meg felt a bit faint at the realization. It could talk? Communicate? She’d always gone with the assumption the Killers were just...constructs. Tools, puppeted by the Entity made from...nightmares or something. Faintness turned to sickness as the Wraith called out behind her. She didn’t have time to process, because The Trapper had emerged from the building, answering the Wraiths calls. 

“What do you want Phillip?” 

The Wraith was called _Phillip_? Holy shit that was a terrible name. She was getting murdered by a guy named Phillip? How lame. The nausea was getting worse. She didn’t want to know that. She didn’t want the Killers to have human names, human voices. 

“We’re on a break. I thought I’d drop by to say hello.” Phillip’s, no the Wraith’s, voice was muffled through the growth on his face, but overall deep and even. Perky almost. 

“Oh? How’d you figure?” The Trapper, _his name was Evan what the fuck_ , asked. He was leaning, casually. Like he was talking to a friend. Two giant murderous psychos, hanging out, shooting the shit. If Meg wasn’t so nauseous, terrified, she might have popped out right then and there, demanded they stop acting like people. They weren’t allowed to act normal, not after everything they’d done to her, to them. The Wraith was talking again, and Meg forced herself to listen, to put her breakdown on pause.

“I saw them in my yard. I never see them around unless we’re between the trials.” The Trapper huffed. Amused? Angry? Meg couldn’t tell.

“Well damn. Could use a break. Get any of them?”

“What? No. I’d rather not...well.”

“You’re damn soft Phillip. You know the one upstairs is gonna be harder on you if you aren’t working all the time.” Phillip was shaking his head sadly and Meg was reeling. She sunk down as they wandered away, towards the building, still talking. Evan was moving his hands emphatically, like he was trying to drive home a point. Phillip was still shaking his head. Unhappy or unswayed. 

Emotional.

Why? Why were the Killers human? Meg wanted to leave, try the fog again, but numb legs and nausea kept her pinned to the ground. Her thoughts felt too fast, but somehow too slow. She didn’t want to know this, to have to process it. She needed help, she needed the others. If she couldn’t calm down, Jake could help, Dwight could help her process, Claudette would make her better, she needed _help_. She wasn’t made to survive alone. She glanced up. The Killers were still gone, somewhere out of sight. That would have to be good enough.

She pulled herself up on shaking legs, forced the bile in her throat to stay down, and bolted for the treeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for Hag things at the end.

## Chapter 2: Flash

Claudette stared out into the treeline, hoping that dark shadows would eventually morph into the shape of Meg. Everyone else had made it back fine, and quickly. Only Meg hadn’t, and deep discomfort had wedged itself into Claudette’s gut. Meg knew her way around the ever shifting woods well, could make it from the fire to the pond and back again in less time it took to brew a cup of tea. 

“See anything?” Dwight walked up to stand beside her, casting his own gaze into the trees. 

“No. I don’t like it.” Claudette shifted, looking up at him, “But at the same time it’s not like we can go looking. We’d just end up more separated.” 

“We could ask Jake to take a look. Just to the pond, maybe. He wouldn’t mind, and we could use the water anyway.”

“I doubt she’s there, if she’s been gone this long.” 

Dwight nodded grimly, still looking into the darkness. He knew that. There wasn’t anything better to do really, except wait. He sighed, pushed his glasses up with the same motion. “I’m not going to tell you to stop looking, but come at least get something warm to drink.” He ushered her gently back towards the fire, and more specifically to the large dented kettle resting on a rock next to it. They didn’t have much, really. The kettle had been one of Jake’s many contributions to what Claudette liked to call their ‘campsite’. What little they had was hard won. Each piece earned through scavenging or brought out of a survived trial.

The bedding had taken the longest. Cloth was bulky, and hard to carry on short notice. Impossible to carry over windows and broken door frames quickly, unless it was bundled up. It created a handle for the killers if you carried it like a pack, easy to grab and pull. They’d had to scavenge it all, out from under the nose of the Doctor, mostly. She sipped on the water, the steam warm and soothing. The cups were thrown together, long grass and bandages woven around tin cans to prevent burnt hands. 

Claudette took her cup with her to the edge of the circle, thanking Dwight as she went. Life was difficult, but...when routine was shaken it felt worse than usual. She didn’t like when they were seperated. Old habit. Maybe it was unhealthy. What was the line between relying on your friends in life-threatening situations in a healthy way or an unhealthy way? She tried not to be a burden, and she hoped that was enough. She didn’t expect them to make her feel better as if by magic. She didn’t expect that she could make them feel better either. She tried. But it couldn’t always work. If there was a way to cheer someone up after they got eaten alive, she didn’t know about it. 

They had never talked about it, but she knew she wasn’t the only one. Dwight paced when he was nervous, chewing the tips of his fingers to shreds, and he was doing it now, just like he did when he was left behind for trials. Jake grew even more withdrawn than usual. He didn’t talk when something was bothering him, communication limited to single syllables, and he hadn’t spoken a word since they had gotten back. They had been alone together for a long time. It had taken a long time for anyone to figure out how to get between campfires, and it was hit or miss if it even worked. 

They were probably co-dependent. Claudette wavered on that one. There were plenty of clinical diagnoses bouncing around in her head, born from a lifetime of second-guessing symptoms, of trying to find work-arounds for in-born neurosis that were undesirable back in the normal world. Living in a cyclical torture world had...changed many of her opinions on mental health. Before this it had mattered that she couldn’t find words when she was nervous, that she couldn’t help but to stop and examine the plants she saw on her walk home. It had made people uncomfortable, employers questioned her skills, made her question herself, when people raised their eyebrows and turned to the side, disengaged and uninterested in plants and bacteria. 

Here it was different. It was normal to be completely silent in trials, envied by some of the others who were used to being loud in response to a threat. She was good at finding useful things, her eyes sharp and honed for plants of a different shape or color than the rest. Meg, Dwight and Jake never cut her off when she explained something, acted interested even, in what she could teach them. They thanked her when she was done talking. Never acted bored, or sighed exaggeratedly. 

She wondered, often, if it wasn’t her that was built differently, but the real world that wasn’t interested in trying, that was broken. 

She wondered if she’d handle hell better if she was still taking citalopram. 

The fire popped behind her, and Jake sighed. Claudette glanced back at him and he pointed at the fire, in a tight motion. Dwight translated for him, “The trials will be starting again soon. Wherever Meg is, she’ll get sent back with us eventually.” 

///////////

Meg really hopes that the trials start up again soon. The woods keep sending her back to the Coal Tower, over and over again, and it’s gotten to the point where she’s just sitting at the edge of the forest, glaring angrily into the darkness. She’s folded her jacket into a pouch of sorts, to carry her trinkets around her waist, instead of risking dropping them, but the air is chilly and she’s not actually sure if she’ll have a chance to drop them off at the fire before the trials start. 

The panic has faded with time, and she misses the adrenaline. The rush leaves her tired, feeling slow and over sensitive at the same time, her nerves overused. She wishes she at least had another survivor with her. Being alone has always felt like a bad thing, and it leaves her exposed and off balance. 

She can catch glimpses of The Trapper and Wraith through the windows occasionally, and they make her skin crawl. Whatever it is they’re doing, comparing notes on how to murder people, maybe, they pace back and forth, gesturing at things she can’t see. Boredom itches under her skin, and she mulls over the concept of the Killers to pass the time. 

Her assumptions are obviously outdated and even if she doesn’t like it, new information is valuable as a survival tool. What she should be doing, even at the negligible threat of death, is eavesdrop. Every step closer is a more dangerous one though, because the closer she gets to that building, the more traps will be set.

But she has died many times, boredom is a better motivator than the threat of death, so Meg ties her jacket a little tighter around her waist, and creeps her way back towards the building. Traps glimmer menacingly in the moonlight, and she steps over three before she can even get under the window. Steadying herself with a hand against the wall, she tries to calm the beating of her heart, and strains her ears to listen. 

She can’t understand them. Two different voices drift over to her, but try as she might she can’t make out any words. Their tones are interesting though. Wraith somehow sounds more cheerful, his octaves dipping up and down regularly. The Trapper though, is more monotone, and baritone, and quite a lot harder to hear. 

Very carefully, she peeks into the room. Both Killers are facing away from her, leaning against a workbench. It’s covered in tools and bits and pieces of scrap that Meg is immediately itching to investigate. She’s never seen a workbench here during trials, and she knows that whatever tools the Killers have access to would be far superior to the ones they have at the fires. She makes a mental note that they should really try to scavenge here more often, and refocuses on the Killers themselves.

The Trapper fiddles with something on the bench, and Wraith watches him, head tilted. She can’t make out what he’s doing, or what they're saying, and a tingle on her spine has her drop low again and contemplate her next move. She _should_ try to leave again. The feeling on her spine whispers that the Entity is near, that the trials will be beginning again soon, and she could probably escape now and get back to the fire with her goods. Or, she could stay and get more intel. Nothing she’s carrying is more valuable than information. As quietly as she can, she unties her jacket from around her waist, and sets in on the grass at her feet. 

The trinkets inside make a faint clicking, and she tenses, but the conversation from inside doesn’t slow. Stepping over her loot she backs up, avoiding the traps she dodged on the way in. The path around the back of the tower is just as perilous as the front, and she only narrowly avoids stepping in a trap at the end of a dilapidated car’s bumper. She rounds a second corner and the voices finally become clear. 

There isn’t nearly as much to hide behind on this side, aside from the remains of two old tractor treads, but getting to them would be impossible. The Killers have a view out another window looking straight out. She settles into what she would normally consider a terrible hiding spot, between the two lockers on the outside of the building, and listens. 

“-isn’t like I don’t know better.” Wraith has mirth in his tone, “It still took Lisa three tries to get out though.”

“Someday, she isn’t going to think you’re funny.” Despite his monotone, Trapper still sounds amused, “Fuck this damn thing.” He curses suddenly, followed quickly by the sound of metal snapping together. “It’s never going to be the same.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“That damned boy in green. Asian, real fucking quiet. Messed with it during a trial and I haven’t been able to get it to stay open. The plate tension won’t stay even.” The Trapper sighs, and there’s a sound like he’s set something down, and Meg imagines him rubbing his temples in frustration over Jake’s engineering prowess. 

“Oh he’s a clever one isn’t he? Just the other day he was up to his tricks.” Wraith sounds...almost sad? Meg doesn’t have time to ponder his tone as he continues, “Made me lose at least two hooks. It killed him, in the end, but it was quite noble.”

“Don’t think about it,” The Trapper advises. “Thinking about it won’t make it easier, Phillip.” 

The two fall into silence, and Meg appreciates the chance to collect her thoughts. The Wraith, acting like it somehow upset him, to cut them down, never killing on the first blow, snarling, feral and _evil_. He **should** think about it, should feel remorse, or feel fucking nothing at all. The itching spreads to her wrist, but she doesn’t scratch it, too focused on holding as still as she can.

It takes a long time for The Wraith to speak again. “Do you think about it?”

Metal snaps together on the bench and Meg can barely make out the sound of The Trapper letting out a deep sigh, but The Wraith lets his question hang in the air. 

“Yeah.” The Trapper’s response voice doesn’t betray much emotion, his tone unchanged, but his delay says enough that The Wraith pushes again.

“Do you think they have names?”

“You’re fuckin’ exhausting you know that Phillip?” The Trapper’s monotone betrays him this time, anger leaking into his controlled voice, “Of course they have fucking names. Doesn’t change what I’ve done to them, what I’m going to _keep_ doing. You can’t cry for every maggot you step on Philip.” 

“Hmmm.” The Wraith lets the silence hang again. 

The itching in Meg’s hand escalates into pain and she is just a moment too late in stifling her whimper. 

“Did you hear that?” Phillip asks from inside. 

Meg’s anger transforms into high-alert fear and she presses backward into the building, trying desperately to quiet her breathing. The Wraith’s footsteps are distinct, and he walks up to the window, looking for the source of the sound. Meg’s heart pounds, and the familiar sharpness of fear grays out the edges of her vision. 

“Evan, do you always have a light by those lockers?”

Meg’s heart drops and she glances down. The fog of the Entity has rolled in by her feet, and along with it, the burning embers tearing away her skin in order to transport her into a trial has rolled up her bare arms, glowing, painful, and very, very obvious. 

“What are you talking about?”

More footsteps up to the window, and Meg can feel the embers crawling up her legs, and even if she wanted to run now she couldn’t. Too much of herself lost already to the fog, unreachable.

“The hell?” The Trapper mutters, and he steps through the threshold.

She can do nothing then, as the burning travels up her neck, she feels more like fog than human as The Trapper steps around the locker and freezes. The embers cast a dull reflection across the white of his mask, and for just a moment, she meets his eyes. Before he can say another word, the Entity burns the rest of her away.

//////

Her jacket is back on when she comes to in the middle of a corn field, and she’s immediately grateful for the warmth, pulling her hands inside the sleeves. For a long moment, her legs refuse to move. The Trapper has green eyes, and his name is Evan. Her mind clamors that she has found something enormous, something that might change her reality. The profoundness has to wait, because even as she shivers at the prospect of _something new_ her body is held still by very well-honed muscle memory. 

The beginning of a trial is the most crucial in deciding if she’ll survive or not, and thinking about other things will only get her killed. She shoves their names (human names, not puppets or beasts) to the back of her mind, and pushes her focus outwards. 

She’s surrounded by rotting stalks, and no wind blows through the field. There’s a house to what is most likely south, and despite her limited line of sight, the generators are usually easy to find here. In fact, there are lights flickering weakly to the north, and she pushes her way forward towards them, earning a few scratches on her face from an errant jagged stalk she doesn’t push far enough away. 

She ignores the blood starting to trickle down her cheek. The generator lies dormant when she finds it, and she doesn’t approach immediately, glancing warily around. There has been no loud chainsaw, nor any static bursting forth from the ground, and that still leaves plenty of opportunity for ambush. Her heart beats easy and quiet in her chest, so she moves forward, plunging into the guts of the generator. 

The fields are quiet for a long time, and she almost has her generator fully repaired the first time someone screams out across the corn, and it doesn’t take long for them to hit the ground, their aura lighting up with a ruby-like shine. It’s Kate, and Meg lifts her hands away from the generator to check where she’ll be taken, and it protests with a rain of sparks.

Cursing, Meg turns her attention back to the mechanics. Kate screams, and Meg resists the urge to turn around. It takes a few moments, but she’s rewarded when the generator coughs and whirrs to life, lights shining like a beacon. Meg’s heart starts to race, and it’s not from the rush of a job well done. 

The Hag emerges from the corn, snarling, and Meg bolts away. The Hag doesn’t chase her long, but she never does. The Hag doesn’t chase if she doesn’t have to, especially not Meg, whom she has difficulty ever catching up to. Kate is pulled from the hook just as someone else across the map screams and Meg slows to a walk.

It’s grating, walking at a leisurely crawl in a fight for her life, but the Entity seems to appreciate irony. Whoever The Hag has found is putting up a good fight, so Meg makes her way to shack to find another generator there. There is one indeed, sparking and spluttering under the influence of a cursed totem, but it’s still halfway done so Meg gets to work.

She only works for a few minutes when there is screaming again across the fields, and a few moments later Claudette limps into the shack, soaked in blood and whimpering. Meg jumps away from the generator, and Claudette lights up at the sight of her, a relieved smile spreading across her face. It’s a sharp contrast to the blood escaping from her hands and splattering onto the floor, but Meg smiles back, wasting no time in pulling the medkit from Claudette’s hands and pulling bandages around her back.

The Hag’s claws are nasty, and dug deep, but the bandages slow the bleeding enough that Claudette waves her away, gesturing towards the generator. Meg tilts her head, inquiring when she moves to leave. Claudette makes a triangle gesture and Meg wishes for the thousandth time they could talk in trials. 

Claudette must see her confusion because she gestures to the generator, and makes a triangle in the air again, emphatically. It clicks, and Meg waves her away, diving back into the generator. Claudette gives her another smile, and ducks out of the shack again to destroy the totem she’d found. The screaming across the field ends in Kate going down again and Meg winces. The Hag tends to take one person out early, and it’s an effective strategy. 

Instead of going up onto the hook again, Kate screams, her aura writhing on the ground, trying desperately to shove the Hag off of her. Meg tries not to watch, but nothing can block out the screams as The Hag tears her open, eating her alive. The generator roaring to life is a relief, blocking out the screaming, and Meg leans her head close to the machine, letting it drown out everything else. 

She knows she shouldn’t hesitate, with the curse gone, and Kate dead, it’s imperative she move on, find another generator to work on. It’s been too long since she’s slept. Her hands shake where they’re braced against the generator, and she can’t shake the old echoing feeling of her guts being pulled out of her stomach while she’s still alive.

A man screams somewhere close by, and it’s enough to pull her away from the generator, and out of the shack. David might be sturdy, but he’s slow enough the Hag has decided to actually chase him and Meg risks a jog, trying to avoid them both. Her ears ring from staying too close to a completed generator for too long, a constant, irritating whine that makes it hard to focus.

When David screams again, she winces, and resists the urge to cover her ears like a child. She might be tired, wrung out, but she’s not going to tune out her team for her own selfish exhaustion. She heads to the large house, and is punished for her pace when The Hag pops out in front of her, snarling. Meg whirls away, and it takes her a moment to realize that The Hag herself hasn’t followed up on the trap, so she trudges back the way she came, cursing. The generator on top of the house is safer than the ones in the fields, and her foot hits the bottom step when Claudette screams in pain. 

She wants desperately to ignore the situation, to do the generator on top of the house, and pretend Claudette can handle saving David. Meg spins, and runs towards the hook. Two traps trigger on her way through the fields, but The Hag ignores her, sights firmly set on Claudette. Or, so it would seem. Meg knows better than to believe The Hag won’t punish her for releasing her prey.

When the hook David hangs from is only a few meters away, she slows, dropping into a thigh punishing crouch. David doesn’t look at her as she approaches, instead watching Claudette run circles around a pallet in the distance. Meg reaches him right before The Entity materializes, barely, and grips him under his shoulders, pulling him free.

He makes what is probably meant to be a grateful grimace, crouching down himself as soon as he is on his feet, pointing at the trap on the ground she hadn’t seen crawling up, hidden in a patch of grass. 

She heals him as best she can despite the jagged wounds, and they go their separate ways. Meg's hopes aren’t high that they’ll get very far. She’s proven correct when Claudette finally goes down, just as Meg reaches the upstairs of the house. There’s not much to be done but to go back down, and Meg’s heart thunders in her chest. 

Crouching around the corner, Meg watches as the Hag sets up her traps right outside the house, under Claudette’s hanging body. It takes The Hag a long time to leave, trapping an excessive amount of the ground before going off to check on her generators. Meg moves as slowly as she can, careful not to disturb the lines in the dirt as she goes. 

Her heart rate accelerates as she gets closer, but there’s not time to hide or change course. She pulls Claudette down, and Meg braces herself for a blow to try to protect Claudette with her own body. Claws rip into her back, and Claudette tries to run, but the traps trigger as soon as she moves and The Hag jumps for her, knocking her to the ground, before spinning to find Meg again.

Meg tries to run for it, but she doesn’t get far. The Hag catches her on yet another trap, and Meg screams as she goes down. The Hag isn’t tall, but still looms over her as she licks her gnarled claws, tasting her blood and Meg gets the overwhelming urge to cry, weakly pulling herself away. 

The Hag hoists her up, and Meg wiggles hard, trying her best to escape, but the claws hold her firm, and it takes only a moment for her to go up onto the same hook she pulled Claudette off of only a moment before. The world tightens to a pinpoint, her entire world focuses down to the feeling of steel penetrating her shoulder, and her voice cracks before she realizes she’s still screaming. 

The Hag snarls, and turns her focus to Claudette’s prone form. Claudette whimpers, lying in a pool of her own blood, and the hook in Meg’s shoulder means she can’t turn her head to look away. The Hag approaches like a starving dog, hunched and snarling. She pounces suddenly, her teeth locking into Claudette’s neck with a spray of blood, and Claudette screams weakly, arms spasming in pain. 

Meg closes her eyes, too late, but nothing can stop the sound of claws tearing into flesh, and the brutal tearing of skin and muscles. Meg doesn’t open her eyes, even as Claudette goes silent, and The Hag limps away to find David.

With a silent apology to David, Meg tries to free herself from the hook. She only gets three, painful pulls when the Entity burns into existence, and she doesn’t even try to stop it’s spike when it bears down, and takes her as a sacrifice. The spike is a brutal, horrible end, and Meg can feel it as it goes through her spine, and the burning of the Entity’s embers on her skin as it lifts her upwards, and she tries not to feel grateful as her consciousness fades into the fog.


	3. Approach

## Chapter 3: Approach

The fire crackles merrily, constantly, emitting an easy warmth. Meg doesn’t notice, or rather doesn’t care. The ground is hard, and cold, and the warmth doesn’t seem to reach her at all. The Entity dropped her off here, after the last trial against the Hillbilly, and she hasn’t found a reason to get up yet. A branch digs into her side, more nuisance than pain, but she can’t bring herself to toss it into the fire. No one else has reached the fire and she’s exhausted. Even the rush of outrunning a homicidal maniac doesn’t give her the usual burst of excitement.

It’s nice, she supposes, that The Hillbilly hadn’t gotten the satisfaction of the kill. The optimistic part of her says that it’s the exhaustion making her so melancholy, but the more realistic part of her nervously edges on the fact that she’s losing hope. She knows there’s no point in keeping track of whether she lives or dies. Dying doesn’t feel like so much of a loss anymore, there’s no scoreboard, no timekeeper, and certainly no reward for living.

Out of the last fifteen trials, she’s survived five. The killers haven’t gotten any stronger, but The Entity seems invested in them winning. Hex totems too well hidden, generators too close together, and survivors unsuited for the trials before them. Her eyes burn, and she blinks, looking away from the light of the fire, into the shadows of the woods instead.

It takes a tear rolling down her face to realize. 

“Fuck.”

She sits up, rubbing at her face, but she only succeeds in smearing the ashy remains of the Entity’s embers across her cheeks. She stands, trying to control her shaky breathing, keep her balance on the edge of despair. 

“Meg?” Claudette emerges from the trees, skin still burning at the edges. “Meg, oh my God.” Claudette rushes over, and in less than a moment Meg finds herself in a tight embrace, and she loses the balance, and begins to sob. Claudette makes a soothing noise in her ear, petting her head gently.

Meg feels another hand on her waist, pulling her close, but she doesn’t look up from Claudette’s shoulder. Her tears fall hot and fast, gathering in the folds of Claudette’s leather jacket. Claudette doesn’t stop petting her head, whispering soft nothings into her ear, pausing only to ask a soft question directed at someone else. It takes her a long time to pull herself together and when her tears finally stop she’s a mess, and she gathers her mettle before peeling her cheek away from the leather jacket.

Jake and Dwight whisper carefully to each other over her head, and Claudette has leaned against Jake’s bulk behind her. When she sniffles, loudly, Jake produces a handkerchief from his pocket that she takes gratefully. Calm returns, like glass being arranged into a mosaic, her exhaustion hits her as hard as sensation returns to her body, and she stumbles. Dwight’s arm around her waist keeps her upright, but the movement prompts them to untangle. Jake steps back, hands leaving Claudette’s shoulder and guiding both girls down to a log, and Dwight steps away, turning to fill their kettle and setting it by the fire. 

Jake settles in on Meg’s other side, though he keeps more distance, his eyes on the trees, expression carefully blank. He doesn’t look at her when he asks, “What happened?”

Meg snorts, shakes her head stiffly, “I just got overwhelmed I guess. A few bad trials-”

“No.” Jake still isn’t looking at her, but his voice is firm, “Before that. Trials are one thing. What happened when you couldn’t get back to the fire?”

Icy dread gathers at the base of Meg’s spine, and her words stick in her throat. 

Claudette speaks up for her, hesitant. “Maybe now’s not the best time. We can talk about it after we’ve slept?”

Dwight returns from the fire, handing them all steaming cups of water. Jake takes his with a nod of thanks, and takes a sip as Dwight settles onto the ground between his knees. 

“Whatever happened won’t hurt any less by telling us later.” Jake doesn’t back down, though his eyes drop down, and he reaches out to grab Meg’s knee. “Did they do anything to you?”

“Hey,” Dwight intervenes, “You don’t have to say, we’re just worried.”

Meg grabs Jake’s hand on her knee, and squeezes. He squeezes back, solid and steady. 

“I got stuck at the Coal Tower.” The first sentence falls out, scratchy and disjointed, and she takes a sip of warm water to even her voice. The others listen carefully, unmoving and attentive. It doesn’t take as long as it feels like it should, to explain the whole ordeal, and when it’s over she slumps down, feeling like a worn out rag.

“Phillip huh?” Dwight is the first to speak, his voice carefully light, “What a terrible name for a serial killer.”

Her glass calm breaks, like a burst balloon, and she laughs, loud and bright. Dwight smiles at her, and when she finally pulls herself together, Claudette and Jake have broken into tentative smiles as well. True calm returns as her shoulders shake and her laughter settles, into something more solid and reassuring.

She might not have much of a reality here, and uncertainty might loom around every corner, but she has this. Jake’s hand firmly in hers, Claudette’s arms around her shoulder, and clever Dwight, so ready to provide much needed perspective. Still smiling, she sips on her water, watching as her adventure settles into her friend’s minds’. 

“I think we can use this. Their names, I mean.” Dwight ponders, pulling his knees up and picking at the edge of his water can.

“How?” Jake asks.

“I’m not sure yet. It could take them by surprise, definitely, but it’s not of any use inside of a trial.” Dwight shrugs. “Unless we wanted to risk talking to them outside of trials. I don’t think we’re that desperate yet.”

“We could write it out?” Claudette suggests, “Something ominous, like ‘I know who you are,’ kind of thing? Make them nervous?”

“Making them nervous won’t help much. I mean, it’s not like they’re afraid of the cops finding them or something. Might make them more aggressive even.” Dwight shoots her down gently, shrugging as he talks. Silence falls again, and Meg’s eyes are drifting shut when Jake speaks up again.

“Something was keeping you at the tower.”

“Huh?” Meg’s eye’s snap open, and Jake’s eyes are on their clasped hands.

“The Entity never likes to keep us away from the fires for long. Nobody burned any bones, there’s no reason you should have been trapped there, unless…” Jake lifts their intertwined hands, “you were being forced to stay. There’s no reason that we’re the only ones able to burn offerings.” 

“Maybe killers can request certain survivors to be in their trials?” Dwight muses. “But why would they burn an offering when the trials are off?”

“Maybe it wasn’t intended for a trial.” Claudette whispers. 

Something niggles at the back of Meg’s mind, and she almost doesn’t realise when she speaks out loud. “I don’t think it was intentional.” Three heads turn to look at her, and she continues, “Neither of them realized I was there. When The Trapper saw me, he looked...well he hesitated like he was surprised. And the Wraith _couldn’t_ have had time to burn an offering in between chasing us away from the yard and going to the Tower.”

Jake picks up her thought, “So The Trapper didn’t know the trials were over, and burned an offering to see _you_ specifically in a trial, or he burned an offering not knowing what it would do.” 

“I almost like the idea that the Killers still aren’t totally aware of all the Entity’s rules but,” Dwight says, “it seems unrealistic to hope that this was just a fluke. Did you see The Trapper in any of your trials Meg?”

“No. I saw the Wraith once, but he didn’t act any differently than usual.”

“It’s getting weird that you _aren’t_ seeing him.” Claudette adds. “I know Jake and I got him this last go. This is going a bit beyond luck.”

“What do you mean?” Jake asks.

“I haven’t seen him in...at least three sets of trials. And the last one I had with him was odd.” Meg explains, briefly, her odd trial where she had been released, and Jake and Dwight lean back, concerned.

“Did he take anything from you in that trial? Hair? Blood?” Claudette asks.

“Not that I noticed.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t even need an offering.” Jake offers grimly. “You said Phillip wouldn’t have had time to burn an offering. How would he get to the Coal Tower without one?”

“Maybe they can manipulate the fog in ways we can’t?” Dwight suggests. 

“For all our sake, let’s hope that’s all they can do without offerings.” Jake says.

The four of them fall silent, ruminating.

“That’s enough.” Claudette huffs. “We’re all exhausted. Let’s sleep on it and talk about it later, with clear heads.”

There’s no objection, so they pull out their blankets, and set them up, closer than they might be normally. Claudette flips her blanket out right next to Meg, and when given a curious look, she stutters, embarrassed, but makes no move to set up further away. Meg kicks off her shoes, and her exhaustion, held at bay by stress and the tantalizing promise of a mystery, finally wins out over excitement. She passes out as soon as she lays down, and doesn’t dream.

//////

Meg wakes up slowly, to the sound of quiet conversation. Claudette has shifted in the night, her back to Meg’s side, a solid comforting warmth, and Meg lies still, unwilling to wake up her friend. 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s _safe_ ,” Jake’s angry tone snaps her away from the dregs of drowsiness, and she carefully doesn’t move. 

“Yeah but going alone? That’s just asking for trouble. You should know that better than any of us,” Dwight sounds just as irritated, “and what good would it do? We should try this the way we always have. Explore together, escape together.”

“Don’t you see? Being alone is how this happened in the first place. She was separate. We need to figure out if it’s just her, or if any of us can get trapped if we’re alone.”

“I don’t think just running off into the woods is exactly going to replicate the conditions here Jake. Do you even have any offerings for the Coal Tower?”

“I’ll find one.”

“So you don’t. Just...cool off for a bit. I know sitting around grates on you, but this isn't exactly time sensitive. We have all the time in the world.”

“I’m starting to think we don’t.”

Meg’s heart dropping is reflected in Dwight’s tone.

“What do you mean, ‘we don’t’?”

“The Entity. It’s getting more aggressive, but not with everyone. With _us_. I’ve been listening, and the other survivors haven’t been getting nearly as beaten down in trials. Remember what Vigo wrote? About The Entity phasing out the old, crushing their spirits when it gets bored?”

Dwight goes silent, and Meg can’t resist any longer, sitting up, and dislodging Claudette who squeaks in protest. Jake looks over at her sharply, and she meets his gaze.

“What was your plan?” she asks. Jake looks out at the woods, then turns back to her.

“Go back to the Tower. See if I got stuck as well. Then test if bringing something belonging to another survivor could break me out.” 

“What happens when you don’t get stuck?” Meg throws aside her blanket, and stands, shaking out the sleepiness in her arms.

Jake’s gaze flick down towards Dwight, and back up again. “Figure out what kept you there.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Oh my G- No!” Dwight raises his voice, the closest Meg has heard him to angry in a long time. “The two of you running off to conduct who knows what experiments in the fog isn’t a good idea. If we want to check it out we should all go!”

“We can’t.” Claudette’s voice emerges from the pile of blankets, soft and grumpy. “Going in groups is something we’ve always done, and never gotten us stuck. I know I won’t get stuck anywhere because I’ve come back to the fire just fine after being separated before,” Claudette rolls over, the blankets still tight around her shoulders, “You won’t get stuck either Jake. I know that you go into the woods alone, when everyone is sleeping.”

Jake’s shoulder’s tense, and for a long moment there is silence. 

“I need to go back.” Meg whispers finally. 

“Do you though?” Dwight snaps. “It was a fluke. What’s the chance it happens again if you don’t go looking for it?”

“That the thing.” Meg paces, her mind churning, “If it’s not a fluke? If we can exploit this? It means we can exploit the fog itself.”

“A way out.” Jake adds, solemn. 

“Maybe. Not directly. But bending the rules is a good first step.”

Dwight sighs, his head falling into his hands. “I can’t exactly argue with that, can I?” He concedes, though his voice is somber. He scrubs his face, readjusting, and Meg lets him think, absently stretching her shoulders as she paces.

“Do you have to go alone?” Dwight asks finally. “I don’t like the idea of you out there without backup.” 

“We could follow her.” Jake adds, “nothing says we can’t burn offerings in succession.”

“Wait,” Claudette chimes in, “I thought you wanted to test if offering something a survivor owned could bring you back? It wouldn’t do much good to burn some hair or something and get back to the fire if nobody is _at_ the fire. You’re supposed to get back to the fire without any offerings anyway.”

Dwight groans, and Meg taps her foot, thinking.

“The pond.” Jake finally speaks up. “We go to the pond first. Two of us. Dwight, you can never find it on your own, right?” Dwight shakes his head, “so you burn something of mine, and see if you can find it that way. Then we’ll come back here, after seeing if that works and see about getting to the Coal Tower.” “That could...actually work?” Dwight leans back. He opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by Jake tossing his scarf squarely in his face. 

“It will or it won’t. Give us an hour. C’mon Meg.”

Jake strides away, and Meg is about to follow, when Claudette grabs her arm, and presses something into her hand. 

“What?” It’s a bright green lanyard, one Claudette often gets stuck wearing. 

“Just in case,” Claudette whispers, “just because.” Meg nods, and rushes to follow Jake, whose silhouette has already begun to disappear into the trees. Jake does pause, waiting for her to catch up before he reaches the fog and Meg wraps the thin lanyard around her wrist a few times, just behind her grass bracelet, before Jake offers her a nod, and together they step into the mist.

Walking with Jake is a quiet affair, their only interaction to point out birds, or pull aside branches for each other. They have to walk somewhat slowly, to avoid tripping on the numerous jutting roots of the forest, but Meg’s mind hasn’t slowed at all. If Jake is right, and the Entity is trying to crush their spirits, the next set of trials will be even worse than the last and…she doesn’t want to die ten more times. 

This walk to the Pond will prove something, surely. If Dwight can find them, it will be great evidence that survivors can use offerings of each other. What happens if Dwight doesn’t find them, though? Do they wait an hour? Two? Does it ruin the experiment if they give up and head back to the fire too quickly? Time is finicky in the fog, and it could take until the start of more trials for him to find them again.

The lanyard on her wrists itches like freedom. Her steps slow, but Jake notices too quickly, turning around and waving at her impatiently. 

Jake's original plan hadn’t been the Pond. If she’s getting pulled to the Tower...does she even need an offering to get there? Looking out into the trees, no brick is hidden in the mist, and no foul coal smell reaches her nose. Jake is a solid guide, who relies on no luck to get where he wants. 

“I’m going.” Her mouth has decided before her mind, as usual. Jake stops, but he doesn’t protest, like she expects.

“Good.”

“Huh?”

“You’re the only one who can get to the bottom of this. I’ll tell the others where you went. If you aren’t back in a few hours, I’ll follow you, with a normal offering.”

“Jake...thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, just go.”

He turns his back on her, and disappears behind the trees, and she watches him leave, before spinning on her heel, and marching off in the opposite direction. She wishes the moon would move overhead, but it stays ever-centered and she focuses on finding her way. 

Again, the Tower doesn’t draw her in directly, but it draws her in faster than it did last time. She only passes the red forest once, before the acrid scent of burnt coal finds her nose. 

The Coal Tower hasn’t changed since she last saw it, and she keeps her footsteps slow and careful as she passes the treeline. The traps have been moved from their old positions, so The Trapper is either paranoid, or bored. Maybe both. The trap by the car is gone, and there’s an unsettlingly clear path to the building. The doorway is clear, and as she steps through, she strains her ears. No footsteps thunder behind her, and her heartbeat stays low and even, so she creeps forward. 

There aren’t any traps inside the actual building, so maybe the Trapper thinks setting them outside would be deterrent enough. Creeping over the unoccupied workbench, she peeks through the junk on the table. Nothing really strikes her interest, most of the tools and pieces too specialized to be any help in repairing a generator. She still pockets a few screws and an interesting bit of wood, and creeps out again, heading to the other end of the area. The Coal Tower leads to another arena, when it’s not inside a trial, and it turns her around a bit to see the store house so close to the tower, where normally there would only be a blank brick wall. 

Still, it’s not as if she’s going to get lost, not when she knows this place- maybe better than her own home. She hops delicately over a pile of debris, careful not to land in the tall grass, and jogs her way towards the storehouse. She almost hits a trap, placed at the bottom of a hill for some godforsaken reason, but avoids it by elegantly throwing herself to the side, and landing in a crumpled heap just to the side of it.

The screws dig holes into her thighs where they rest in her pocket, and she curses when she pats at her side and her hand comes away bloody. The pain is negligible despite the amount of blood soaking her thigh, so she ignores it, more determinedly watching where she steps as she gets closer. 

The storehouse sits quietly, and it’s a little jarring to see the generator that normally rests in the center conspicuously absent. It’s laid out slightly differently than she’s used to. The garage door that would normally lead into the basement is now two, innocuous steel doors. The one on the left is open, just a crack, and she peers through.

Inside is a drab, slate gray office, lit only by the moon shining outside. She waits, watching for any movement that might be betrayed by the moon’s shadow, but nothing emerges. Slowly, she pushes the door open further. Nothing punishes her curiosity, yet, and she checks the door frame, before sliding inside, and closing the door shut behind her. 

Reaching around blindly, her hand hits a lightswitch, and the office is illuminated in a sickly yellow light. It doesn’t reveal much more than she had seen before, a spartan steel desk with bent edges occupies the small wall under the window, a dilapidated aluminum chair shoved up against it.

A large book rests neatly aligned with the edge of the desk, charcoal in a small bowl above it, and she can’t resist, pulling it closer and opening it. The first page is a smeared drawing of the wrecker’s yard. By the looks of it, it wasn’t the first drawing on the page; old, smudged lines undercut the new, like the first drawing had been erased. It’s been so long since she’s seen any kind of art, she feels a small childish glee bubbling up from her stomach as she admires the picture.

She flips through the pages, lingering on familiar scenery, quickly skipping past the darker scenes. The basement, some trees, a neat portrait of the Wraith, but the pictures are mostly landscapes. None are signed, and she’s almost reached the end when another portrait appears and she freezes, her fingers frozen on the page.

There are no mirrors in the Entity's realm, but she hasn’t forgotten her own face. It’s dark, like the lines have been smudged and redrawn many times, but it’s...accurate. She looks older than she remembers. Or, more worn maybe. The eyes on the paper are piercing, and she almost can admire herself, if this is how she looks to other people. Defiant, and strong.

She’s caught up in curious admiration for a long minute before it clicks what it means for there to be a sketchbook _here_ in the Trapper’s home office. She shuts the book quickly, it’s cover making a gentle noise when she slides it back into place. There’s not much left to explore, aside from the small drawer attached to the desk and she opens it quickly. 

Despite the wear, it opens smoothly, not even a squeak coming from it’s bearings. The inside is just as neat as the desk; blank papers shoved neatly to one side, charcoals and an old-fashioned pocket watch nestled next to them. Old habits from her teenage years whisper at her to check for a false bottom, and she does so, dancing her fingers around the bottom of the drawer. 

No seam emerges, but at the very back of the drawer, there is something tucked under the papers. Pulling it out carefully, Meg feels the world zoom in, and her stomach drop, and a question is answered.

It’s a small grass bracelet, broken at the end where the loop should hold it in place. 

She shoves it back in place, slamming the drawer shut, feeling out of breath. It takes her a moment to realize she really should take it with her, get it away from _here_ but before she can open the drawer again, her heart rate picks up in a way that has nothing to do with the bracelet. 

“Shit.”

She hurries to the door, checking through the crack. No footsteps echo the hall, and she moves with purpose, sliding out of the office and into the dim storehouse, managing to duck behind a set of shelves just as the closed door next to the office opens, revealing the Trapper, unmasked, and underdressed. 

She can’t get a good look at him from the shadows, only the faint impression of burns and scars, when he turns into the office. His shadow crosses the floor, and she realizes with a jolt that she’d left the light on. Her breath tightens, and she holds as still as she can. The Trapper, for once, doesn’t seem to be invested in a thorough search, ducking once to check under the desk before simply shutting off the light, and closing the office door with a loud click.

He goes through the door on the right, and Meg catches a glimpse of a simple wooden bed, before he closes that door behind him as well.

She’d caught him _sleeping_. She’s not sure she’s ever felt so lucky in her life, and adrenaline courses through her veins, fast and bright. All she has to do now is burn the lanyard, and try to get back to the others. Keeping low, she heads for the window, hopping over it in a quick, silent leap. A barrel burns only a few feet away, belching black oily smoke, and she forgets, in her excited haze, to look down.

The trap closes around her leg with a loud snap, and she screams.


End file.
